Our Kindred Dead
by JMackenzie
Summary: The Collins' family and the town of Collinsport observe Memorial Day. Can the past truly be laid to rest? Reviews welcome!
1. Chapter 1

Our Kindred Dead

Disclaimer: Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis production and I am not affiliated with it in any way

Chapter One

Quentin turned at the sound of footsteps to see Carolyn, Elizabeth, Roger and David trooping in to the drawing room, the two women bearing flowers, Roger looking irritated, and David sulky. He made an attempt to decipher the flowers and the expressions, and seeing him flounder Elizabeth provided an explanation. "We're paying our respects to our ancestors."

David grimaced at her choice of words and Roger's frown deepened. "I think it's absolutely ridiculous." Roger stated impiriously, as though he wanted no one to be in doubt as to his opinion concerning the matter.

Quentin had forgotten that today was Memorial Day. "Ah, going to placate the ghosts for another year." he said sagely, exchanging a grin with David.

"Quentin," Elizabeth scolded, though a faint smile played on her lips, "you shouldn't say such things."

Obediently Quentin aligned his features in to a serious mask. "Yes, well, we wouldn't want any of our ghostly family to come calling, would we?"

He kept his face void of emotion but Carolyn and David laughed, and even Roger allowed himself a smirk. Salvaging what dignity she could from the situation Elizabeth made her way to the door. "You will come of course."

This statement addressed Quentin and shrugging, he nodded. "I wouldn't mind spending a little time with my great-great-great grandmother."

He fell in to step with the procession as they exited Collinwood, David shuffling his feet alongside him. "This is so boring," he hissed at Quentin, "what's the point? We do this every year."

"It's to keep the restless spirits at bay." Quentin revealed in a dramatic stage whisper.

"Come on, Quentin, you don't actually believe that, do you?"

Quentin tried to appear wise, but the effect was less than convincing given the spark of amusement lurking in his eyes. "I have been to many places in my lifetime, David, and everywhere I went, people held some belief of apparitions. Why should the Collins family be any different?"

David didn't have time to comment on this because at that moment Roger's complaints overrode the discussion. "I hardly think a vase of wilted flowers is going to appease our deceased family members. They're long dead. why should they care if their graves are decorated?"

Elizabeth glanced down at the bouquet of lilies, baby's breath and irises, eyeing them critically. "These flowers are in pristine condition, Roger. I can't understand why you're making such a fuss over the situation. It will only take a few minutes."

"It's a matter of principle, Liz," he explained patiently, "I don't think the dead have any right to take up my valuable time."

Elizabeth didn't validate his complaint with a response, walking briskly but with no urgency, glancing back every now and then to ensure her entourage still followed. Carolyn fell back to walk beside Quentin and David, resuming their previous conversation. "I'm surprised at you, David. You of all people have been up close and personal with the supernatural. Remember Sarah, the little girl you claimed was a ghost?"

David scowled and Quentin wondered if this was a memory David didn't care to examine. "That was different, Carolyn," he pointed out, "she wasn't a scary ghost if you know what I mean."

"Scary or not, she was still an apparition," Carolyn pointed out logically, "and then there was Josette."

David heaved an impatient sigh. "All right, all right," he allowed, "they were ghosts, but they didn't come to haunt us. Their appearances were always for the purpose of warning us of danger."

She admitted this point, and feeling victorious David concluded, "I don't think putting flowers on their graves will keep them at peace. They come and go whenever they want. They don't need reasons."

Quentin beamed at David, pleased by his triumph. "He's right, Carolyn. Since when did ghosts ever need an excuse to make themselves at home in Collinwood?"

They were now approaching Eaglehill cemetery with its overgrowth of weeds and and Elizabeth turned to them. "It's a family tradition, and whether or not it keeps our ancestors at rest is beside the point. What matters is that we remember them. I don't believe one day out of the year is too much to ask."

"As long as it keeps them happy." Quentin muttered softly so that only David and Carolyn could hear.

Suppressing a smile Carolyn trailed her mother through the gate.

Even in the daylight of a bright morning, Eaglehill cemetery was gloomy, the headstones cast in eerie shadows, concealing from the world their occupants' secrets. The air was different too, carrying with it a faint trace of ghostly whispers so that even the birds refused to nest in the skeletal branches of the trees. A breeze ruffled Quentin's hair and inwardly chiding himself for his fanciful imagination, wondered if it might be a passing spirit. Dawn never quite seemed to touch the graveyard, its attempts thwarted by some unseen hand that pushed it just out of reach. Why was he doing this? Quentin thought in self derision, conjuring up notions that customarily never plagued him. He didn't make time for melancholy, instead preferring lighthearted conversations where he could make use of his charm. On the rare occasion worry found him, he cautiously nudged it aside, keeping as far distant from it as possible until it had been neatly tucked in to the recesses of his subconscious where it couldn't bother him. With practiced ease he squelched the sudden depression that fell over him, but glancing at the others, he found he wasn't the only one adversely effected by the dreary atmosphere. David's defiance had vanished, replaced by quiet submission, and Roger's stream of grievances stopped, his expression growing contemplative. The two women, who had already been respectfully subdued were even more so now, glancing anxiously around as if expecting the shadows to take on a life of their own. With his habitual charm Quentin made an attempt to lighten the mood. "At least the flowers you've brought should add a bit of color to the place. It could use a little improvement."

His voice sounded oddly magnified in the muffling silence, brash and irreverent, surprising even him by its tenor. The wind rattled the bear tree branches disapprovingly and obediently Quentin fell silent. There was only so much an imagination could conjure, and the sudden unease he felt was not the product of overactive musings. This was an actual feeling imposed upon him by the sinister chill penetrating him, and the restlessness of the women.

He fell back as the rest of the family filed in to the mausoleum, a sudden urge to be alone taking his footsteps to a few graves gathered together in a lonely portion of the cemetery. He new what had drawn him here, understood the true motivation that had brought him to the graveyard in the first place. His heart had acknowledged what his mind refused to tolerate, the constant ache of guilt and sorrow that tugged at him during waking hours, and that had free reign of his dreams and nightmares when asleep. But among these desolate graves, he owed them the courtesy of his anguish, a cheap price to pay in light of their fate.

Kneeling down on the dry grass, he tenderly brushed aside the dead leaves covering the inscription, a fate carved in stone, irreversible in its finality. Nothing could bring her back, not the bone deep remorse, or the promise of endless torment. "Jenny Collins" the letters read, know birthdate or death date given, her name the only tribute to her existence, a gypsy's grave. But she had been so much more than a roving nomad, so much more than he had given her credit for, and in the end his callousness had cost her dearly.

He could still recall the first time he'd seen her, dancing by the light of a large campfire, her bracelets accompanying the flamboyant music as she whirled wildly, a small tornado of energy that fascinated him. She'd finished the dance, and upon glimpsing him at the fringe of the camp had flirtatiously invited him to join them. She claimed that for a few coins she could entertain him, make him forget his troubles for a time. He hadn't told her her that he was a man of few concerns, instead allowing her to spin a magic web of song and mysticism around him. That one enchanting night had begun a short intense romance, and by week's end they were wed, despite the misgivings of her older sister. Looking back he could now see the foolishness of their impulsive behavior, Magda had been right in predicting the outcome of their union, a prediction that didn't rely on gypsy insight.

His family had vehemently been opposed to Jenny joining the family, but since they'd married without informing Edward or Grandmama Edith, their was nothing that could be done to reverse the situation. Judith had been the strongest opposition to their marriage but Grandmama Edith's insistence that they should remain at Collinwood was firm, and not even Judith's pleading could persuade her otherwise.

It was Grandmama Edith who had welcomed Jenny for what she was, going so far as to have her palm read. Jenny had been reluctant to perform this request, wanting to put all gypsy ways behind her in order to conform to the expectations that came with marrying in to the Collins' family. She had truly loved him, Quentin now realized, a love so strong that she had sacrificed the very essence of herself to be with him. He should have never have let her change, should have encouraged her to continue to maintain her cultural identity.

Their happiness endured for a scant four months and in that time Quentin could feel himself gradually drifting away from her, and inexorable slide that went unchecked until it was too late. the adventurous spirit he'd tried to tame rose up to tantalize him and when Edward's wife had begun spending more and more time with him, the novelty that was Jenny began to diminish. Laura was a new conquest, a woman of mystery waiting to be discovered. If only the present had afforded him with its knowledge perhaps he might have been able to curb his enthusiasm, to appreciate Jenny for herself. Then again, maybe force of habit would have won out in the end. He could wish he'd given Jenny more, wished he would have been faithful to her, but wishing couldn't erase his past mistakes and there was no way to make amends. He hadn't truly loved her, not in the pure sense of the word, he'd been infatuated by her beauty, her mystique, but the feelings hadn't run deep. She had deserved so much more than to be lured in by a man who was incapable of giving her his heart. Heartache was all he had left her with. "I'm so sorry, Jenny." he thought in anguish.

He wasn't certain what he was apologizing for, his shabby treatment of her, his infidelity, for leading her in to a marriage whose vows he hadn't intended to keep, or for ending her life so brutally. He hadn't meant to kill her, only to stop her from harming Beth, but whether he'd meant to or not, the deed had been done. Would he be considered a murderer, even if he'd intended it in defending another? The wind repeated his words, echoing them back at him and with his heart heavy he turned to the next gravestone, yet another failure.

Beth Chavez, a woman of rare compassion and bravery, a woman who had made the mistake of falling in love with him. She'd known to love him was to risk heartbreak, and yet she'd made no attempt to conceal her feelings for him. She had been devoted to him even when his foolishness had made her furious. her devotion to Jenny was even more admirable however, she had taken on the responsibility for her existence after he'd so carelessly abandoned her, giving her the companionship she so desperately craved. He'd been the coward, leaving his family to pick up the splintered pieces of Jenny's heart, and through it all Beth had been there, a rock in his tempestuous life. Upon his return to Collinwood she'd been coldly polite to him, confronting him about his ill treatment of Jenny, giving him no room for remorse. Jenny had become her life, her reason for remaining at Collinwood, or so she had told him. He couldn't help wonder if some small part of her had stayed in hopes of his return, or if his arrogance was trying vainly to soothe his battered heart.

He had returned and wanted to begin a relationship with her, but she was having none of it, he was still married, and her only concern was for Jenny. He'd been annoyed by her rebuff, and seeing this as another challenge had continued to pursue her. She hadn't objected, but neither had she reciprocated, giving him hope that he might still have a chance with her.

After Jenny's tragic demise, Beth had reluctantly begun spending more time with him and for the briefest of moments he was happy. It was Magda's revenge that had ended that happiness, the curse she'd placed upon him, which he would bear and pass down through all generations of his descendants, a curse so horrific, in its implications that Quentin had wished for death. After futilely begging Magda to lift the werewolf's curse, and her refusal to do so, he had thought no hope was to be found. But Beth, sweet brave Beth, had gone to Magda herself, pleading with her to end Quentin's torment, using Quentin's children as leverage in her desperate attempt. Magda, shocked and dismayed by the fate she had unknowingly unleashed upon Jenny's children, had tried to reverse the damage but to no avail.

Every full moon triggered his terrible transformation, and not wanting to endanger Beth, he had demanded she leave him. Stubbornly she had stayed, and although he could see the fear in her eyes, she hadn't given in to it, simply watched as he turned in to something inhuman. He'd depended on her steadying presence more than he'd cared to admit, studying her eyes for the bravery he lacked, knowing with absolute certainty she would be with him once he took human form again. Every morning, despondent and weary, he had searched her face for disdain or condemnation, but had only found love, a love he'd clung to, a love he'd knew could never last. She'd wanted to leave Collinwood, to escape the tragedies that plagued the house, possibly discover a cure for his ailment, but embittered and ashamed of what he'd become, he'd slammed that door shut with such finality she hadn't opened the subject again. She could have left Collinwood then, nothing had held her there, but stalwart and tenacious, she had stood beside him, prepared to protect him from his self pity, and from anyone who might do him harm.

The day count Petofi had entered their lives had been the beginning of the end for them. He'd brought Quentin's salvation with him in the form of Charles Delaware tate, who had painted the portrait that had absorbed the curse and given him immortality, but that was the only positive outcome Petofi shared. His insane scheming had led to Beth's tragic death, her life ending in fear as she'd hurled herself off a cliff, trying to escape the man she thought was Petofi. Quentin could only watch in stunned helplessness as she plummeted to the jagged rocks below, her screams reverberating all around him like a thousand terrified voices. Her death was instantaneous, she hadn't suffered, although she'd suffered greatly by associating herself with him. He had never gotten over Beth, he still carried a part of her with him, holding dreams of her close when he slept, treasuring them for the gems they were. Dreams were the only way he could have her, a temporary solution that relieved his burdened heart. His memories were a pale shadow compared with the exquisite joy she had brought him, a dim reflection of hopes unfulfilled. His love for her was genuine, a love that spanned time, a love that couldn't die. Tenderly he touched the headstone, trying to bridge the gap between the moments with her and the lonely emptiness with out her. "Beth." was all he could say as tears rose to choke him.

Blindly he forced his eyes to the last grave, not wanting and yet needing to see it, to pay homige to the son he had never known. It was a small grave marker, befitting the little one who slept beneath it. Years of grime layered the letters etched in to the stone and Quentin vowed to have the grave kept in better condition. It was the only way he could be a father to the child. He hadn't been able to care for him in life, he could at least care for his resting place. It was scant consolation, but he grasped any comfort he could find. He despised himself at this very moment, staring down at the tiny dreary grave, knowing all too well he had inadvertently caused his child's death. One decision made in the heat of defense had trickled down to him and to the innocent child he hadn't known he had. He would give anything to bring his son back from the doom he'd condemned him to, but sacrifice wasn't an option. Only a long life sentence reliving the knowledge of his boy's existence and knowing he'd had to give his little girl up to keep her safe, was the only way to pay for his crimes. Two innocent lives had been forever changed, his little girl never knowing her parents, his little boy cheated out of living.

He shuddered as emotion welled within him and the tears he'd kept pent up for so long spilled on to the stone, the salty water washing away some of the dirt. Sobs shook him violently, making breathing difficult. His throat constricted with the agony of loss, of his own part in making his existence so bleak. His chest was being crushed with grief, an enormous weight that threatened to squeeze the life from him. In a cruel twist of irony, he knew he couldn't die from a broken heart, so the pain would continue on interminably, forever haunting him more effectively than any ghost could. The tears dissolved the pitiful scene before him, and when he had finally regained tentative control over his emotions, blinking away the moisture, the graveyard had vanished!

Surprise evaporated any lingering sadness as he took in his surroundings. He was in a meadow with wide open spaces, a plain of green grass stretching as far as the eye could see. Wild flowers splashed their vibrant colors about, a warm sun reflecting the tranquility prevading this place. Bird song floated majestic on the gentle breeze, and looking up he saw a large oak where several birds perched. Where was he? How had he gotten here? Stiff from kneeling so long, he struggled to his feet, but had taken no more than a few steps when three figures in the distance stopped him. They were too far away for him to recognize, but they seemed happy, their eyes bright with laughter as they drew closer. "Quentin!"

The woman's voice startled him, so out of place was it that for a moment he forgot to respond. Looking around, he wondered if Elizabeth or Carolyn had called his name, but seeing no evidence of them, he thought it must have been one of the approaching figures. He raised a hand in greeting and the trio returned the gesture. He knew he should be afraid of the faces smiling back at him, but an odd sense of sorrow was all he could feel. The little boy held a ball, then grinning, he tossed it to Jenny who caught it, then threw it to Beth. the ball exchanged hands for a while, then with one last catch of the ball, Jenny turned to face him, hands outstretched in welcome. "It has been such a long time, Quentin." she said placidly, "we've missed you."

Tears burned his eyes at hearing the familiar voice, a voice that had once entranced him by its song. The welcome sounded sincere but how could it be when he'd been the one to cause her death? She must be mocking him, taunting him with kind words, only to lash out at him when he least expected it. "Jenny," he said, his voice tight with emotion, "Jenny, I never meant to..."

The movement was so quick, so fluid, one moment she had been standing with the others, the next she was beside him, a gentle hand cupping his cheek. "Don't be sorry, Quentin," she said quietly, "life is too short for regret. I know it was an accident."

She leaned close to kiss his tear dampened cheek, then turned, gesturing to the little boy. He came forward, his smile wide and full, the smile of pure innocence. "This is your son, Quentin." she explained.

"No," Quentin moaned, falling back several paces, afraid to see the accusation in the boy's eyes.

"Hello, daddy," the little voice chirped, "please, don't be sad."

Snap! He felt the pain of his heart as it splintered in to a million pieces of anguish, the tears once again streaming uninhibited down his youthful face. He should have been the one to die from the curse, not his beloved son! He had been the one to make the decision, he should have been given the opportunity to pay with his life! A small padding of feet made him look up, but unable to see, he could only hear the small voice's kind entreaty. "It's all right, daddy. I'm safe and happy. Please, don't cry."

He fitted himself in to Quentin's arms, twining his small arms around his neck. The soft scent of him filled Quentin's senses, his warmth, his love, his inocense. "I'm sorry," Quentin choked out brokenly between sobs, "I'm sorry, so very sorry!"

He clung to the boy, slowly rocking back and forth with him, clutching him as if he was the only lifeline in his sea of salty emotion. His son gently released his hold from around Quentin, lifting his tiny hands to gently wipe away Quentin's tears. "It wasn't your fault, daddy," he whispered, "and mommy and Beth are here to take care of me until you can come to us. We love it here in this beautiful place. Please, be happy just like we are."

There was no mistaking the intent of his words, the purity of a child's truth could not be disputed. The boy hugged him once more, and this time Quentin returned the embrace fiercely. "I love you, son." he whispered, "don't ever forget that."

The child beamed up at him, delight radiating from him. "I love you too, daddy." he said fervently, "and I won't forget."

He turned in Quentin's embrace, smiling at the two women. "Come say hello to daddy, beth." he urged.

She needed no further prompting and moving forward, she laid a hand on Quentin's shoulder. "It has been too long, Quentin."

His eyes were again swimming as he clutched her hand. "Beth, oh, Beth, how I failed you!"

Now it was beth who filled his arms, Beth who surrounded him, who filled him to the brim with mingled regret, longing and sorrow. "Hush, Quentin," she soothed, "you didn't fail me. If anyone is to blame, it's that wicked Petofi. I should have believed you when you told me it was you and not Petofi that day. I'm the one who's sorry for not believing you, for giving in to my fears."

He mopped at his eyes, not wanting to see her face blurred with tears. the earnest expression on her beautiful face seeped in to him, slowly unclenching the heartache within him. She didn't blame him. None of them did. "We are happy here," she was saying, "there is only joy in this place. What happened in the past belongs in the past, and although we can't change it, we can choose to live in the present without remorse holding us back. You've known sorrow for too long, Quentin. It's time to let go of it, to move forward. If you must pay tribute to our memories, do it by being happy, by being the best person you can, and remembering us with fond affection."

His eyes were clear from tears for the first time since he'd arrived in this place, clear to look upon each face, to see they bore him no ill will, only love and hope for his happiness. The burden began to lighten, the weight he'd carried around for so many years beginning to lift from his heart. "Can you be happy, daddy?" the little boy asked hopefully.

That single question threatened to start the tears again, but they were tears of tentative belief, wanting to be happy, to find peace. "I don't know," he admitted honestly, "I'll try. I miss you all so much."

Beth hugged him tighter. "I love you, Quentin," she whispered in his ear, then more loudly so they all could hear, "we all love you. We miss you too, and know you'll be with us someday. But until then, live your life to the fullest."

"You can do it, daddy," the boy encouraged, "I know you can."

"You have the strength within you." Jenny added.

Beth stepped back from him, moving to join the others. "Live in peace, Quentin." Jenny whispered.

"Remember us with joy." Beth reminded.

"I love you, daddy." the little boy said.

They raised their hands in farewell, the smiles on each of their faces transcending the beauty of earthly comprehension, then they were gone. The meadow, the trees, the singing birds, all of it was no more, as if it had never existed.

His hand still rested on the child's headstone, the trees were still tangled and drooping, but the absence of bird song was the most jolting. Had he dreamed the entire episode? No, it had been too real to be cobbled together from his subconscious, so if not a dream, then what? He could find no evidence of anything in the graveyard having been disturbed but his inability to explain what had just occurred didn't really trouble him. He'd experienced too many supernatural events to truly be unnerved by them, and besides, this particular one hadn't been in the least frightening. If anything ,it comforted him. The only thing that puzzled him was their claims that someday he would join them. If the place he'd been to was heaven, how could that be true? The portrait made death impossible. Had dying given them insight in to the future? It was plausible that something might happen to his portrait someday, and he would be free to leave this earth. He couldn't understand it, but just now he didn't care to dwell on it. His heart was too full of joy to think on the matter further. Death would come when it would come, his job would be to live life with peace until it did. For the first time since their passing, he felt hope and peace. He would try to be happy, for himself and so he could more fully appreciate the people they had been. The cemetery no longer seemed bleak and desolate, although there was no denying it needed to be cared for, and he intended to do just that .Wherever his loved ones were, they were happy and whole, they didn't blame him, and now he could begin the process of forgiving himself. He could do it. He would do it!

Footsteps brought him quickly to his feet, and David, Carolyn, Elizabeth and Roger came in to view. He greeted them with a light heart, and the smile he offered them was genuine. "How was it?" he wanted to know.

"Boring," came David's predictable comment, "all we saw were some old coffins." Then his voice became a little wistful. "I saw Sarah's coffin. You know, sometimes I really miss her."

Quentin moved to lay a hand on David's shoulder. "Do you know something, david? She's in a beautiful place, and she's happy. She wouldn't want you to be sad because she's gone. She would want you to think of all the good times you spent together."

Roger eyed him dubiously. "This is a sudden change, Quentin," he observed wryly, "what brought this on?"

The experience was too personal, too exquisite to share, so he only smiled mysteriously. "Let's just say I've had a change of heart."

"I for one am glad we went." Elizabeth announced.

"So am I," Carolyn chimed in, "although this place looks a bit lonely and sad. We should clean it up, maybe plant some flowers or trees, something to make it less dreary."

"I agree," Elizabeth seconded fervently, "it's high time we gave our ancestors a better resting place."

Roger, looking thoughtful said, "Well, it certainly couldn't hurt to clear away some of these dead leaves and weeds. I'll hire some men to do the work."

They all turned to him in astonishment. "You will?" Elizabeth asked.

"Well, Roger, perhaps the spirits of our ancestors had more of an affect on you than you realize." Quentin pointed out, grinning.

"Stop looking so shocked," Roger sniffed, "it gives a bad impression to the people in town if we can't even keep our own graveyards looking nice."

"Of course," Quentin agreed with his trademark smile, "we wouldn't want the townspeople to have a bad impression of us."

They began walking toward the gate leading from the cemetery, and looking back, Quentin glimpsed one lone robin perch in the bear branches of a tree, and in the wind, he thought he could hear the musical laughter of a child.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Maggie laid her hand against the sun-warmed headstone, her fingers running lightly over the engraving. "In memory of a loving father who will never be forgotten". Her eyes blurred with tears as they always did when his memory came to her, his laughter, the security she'd found with him, his selfless concern for her. How she missed him!

Standing close to her, Joe offered what little comfort he could, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. "I know it's hard, Maggie," he said softly, "if it's any consolation, I miss him too. He was a good friend."

She turned in his embrace. "Actually, it does help. I know how much he cared for you as well."

She slipped from his arms and kneeling down, placed a simple arrangement of tulips on the headstone. The sweet fragrance of the flowers recalled her back to a time when she was small, when life had been good and free from worry, knowing her father was the hero she could always depend on to save her from things that frightened her.

Four-year-old Maggie sniffed suspiciously at the flowers pop extended towards her. He had told her tulips smelled really good, but the only flowers she'd ever stuck her nose in had brought on sneezing fits and watery eyes. "Your mother loved tulips, Maggie," he coaxed, hoping the mention of the mysterious mother she'd never known might persuade her.

She had finally given in, although she kept an arm's length distance away from them. She drew the scent in to her lungs, waiting for the allergic reaction that was sure to follow. When nothing happened, she inhaled again. Her eyes widened in surprised pleasure. These flowers didn't make her sneeze. "You were right, pop!" she exclaimed jubilantly, "These flowers smell good."

"What did I tell you," he said, smiling, "they smell nice, and they're pretty, just like you."

She giggled at the praise but was inwardly pleased. "We'd better put them in some water," he told her, "tulips don't last very long. They come out for a little while in the spring, but when summer comes they die."

This revelation made her suddenly sad. "Like mama?" SHE ASKED TREMULOUSLY.

A bleak look came in to his eyes. "Yes, Maggie, like mama."

She looked out over the small plot of ground they had made for the tulips to grow in.When they had first planted them, she hadn't believed they would grow. They didn't look like flowers, just tiny bits of unidentifiable morsels which pop had promised would get big and beautiful after they cared for them. Maggie had her doubts but accompanied POP everyday as he watered the concealed plants. Then one day, it happened. She was bending down to give the tulips her daily inspection when she saw a tiny bit of green poking from the dirt. She squealed with excitement , pointing out the miracle to pop who looked amused. "They're starting to grow," he commented, "they'll get even bigger as the days go by."

Sure enough, they grew and grew until they were as big and beautiful as pop had said they would be.

With her suspicions allayed, Maggie now delighted in the flowers that now served as the centerpiece on the table. Pop had to coax her from them, promising she could admire them to her heart's content once they returned from the diner. Pop never cooked breakfast. The only time he had tried, he'd made a big mess with the pancake batter, burned the bacon, filling the kitchen with smoke, leaving her with an embarrassed grin and a glass of orange juice. Since then, he'd saved her from his attempts by taking her to the diner to eat.

She liked going to the diner, everyone there was so friendly and cheerful, and one of the pretty waitresses always slipped an extra pancake on to her plate. While pop joked with the men at the diner, she skipped from one table to the next, greeting everyone with a smile. Some of the men, who had children of their own, even boosted her on to their knees, ruffling her hair and nudged a few coins in to her small hands, telling her to buy some candy the next time she went to the general store. She returned to pop once he'd finished his breakfast, showing him the shiny dimes and nickels and begging him to take her to buy her favorite candy, and unable to deny her anything, they soon found themselves at the general store on the corner.

She took a few moments to survey everything on the counter, then carefully selecting the candies she wanted, turned to pop to ask if he wanted something. He chose a candy for himself, and beaming with pride at the independence she felt at being able to purchase her own things, and to buy something for pop, meticulously counted out the correct amount of money to the nice lady behind the counter, and retrieved her bag of goodies with a jubilant grin.

Today was her birthday! She was now six years old and feeling very important about the whole thing. It was a sunny day, just the kind of day she had hoped for. Now pop would take her swimming, or to a movie. but the very best present she could get for her birthday was a brand new bicycle! Oh how she wanted one. She had seen the bike at one of the big stores in Boston when she had gone with pop last week, and since then that was all she could think of. she had made her wish quite vocal, taking every opportunity to boast about the bike's many fine qualities. Now if her pleading had been successful, she would get that bike this very day!

Unable to contain her excitement any longer, she rushed from her room and in to pop's. She couldn't imagine how he could still be sleeping when their were places to go and a birthday to be celebrated. She vaulted on to the bed, and groaning, pop sat up, blinking at the rude awakening. "What's wrong, darling?" he asked sleepily.

"Nothing is wrong, pop," she said with faint irritation, "but we have to start celebrating my birthday before the day is over."

He heaved a sigh, and his bleary eyes turned to the bedside clock. "It's still early, Maggie," he mumbled, slumping back on the bed.

Maggie whipped her head around to face the clock upon hearing this statement. She carefully studied its face for a moment, then scrunched up her face indignantly. She knew how to tell time. They had been learning how at school. The little hand was pointing to five, and the big hand was at six. "Pop, it isn't early. It's six-thirty."

"No, sweetheart," he said, "you have it backwards. It's five-thirty, and much too early to be jumping out of bed."

Preparing herself for battle, she slid from the bed and imperiously placed her hands on her hips. It was a posture she had learned from Megan, her friend's mother, and she was rather pleased with the results. "All right, all right," pop grumbled, "I'm coming. Wait for me in the kitchen."

Grinning triumphantly she ran from the room. Five minutes later pop entered, still looking tired but cheerful as he swung her in to his arms and kissed her cheek. "Happy birthday, Maggie." he announced grandly.

She beamed. "Is it time for my presents, pop?"

He gave her a confused look. "What presents, darling?"

Her heart crashed to the pit of her stomach. "You didn't get me a present for my birthday?"

Her voice trembled and tears gathered in her eyes. A wide smile lit his face and he laughed. "I was only teasing you, Maggie," he reassured her, "of course I got you a present."

Instantly her tears evaporated. "You're silly, pop." she informed him.

Taking her hand he said, "Close your eyes."

Her heart quivered with excitement. It had to be a big surprise if he was making her close her eyes. She obeyed and he led her through the kitchen and on to the porch where he stopped. "All right, you can open your eyes."

It was pink and leaned proudly against its kickstand, its shiny new frame gleaming in the sun. She squealed in delight as she threw her arms around pop. "My bike! You got me the bike! Thanks, pop!"

He grinned. "You're welcome, darling. Now let's see how you look on it."

Suddenly apprehensive, she eyed the prospect of her joy, then remembered the much smaller bike housed in the garage. That bike had the safety of training wheels, a fact which she had rebelled against before, but now which seemed much safer in light of what she was about to do. Seeing her reluctance pop laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Maggie, you're a big girl now. You said yourself you didn't need training wheels."

She shifted nervously from one foot to the other, looking dejected. "I know I said that, pop, but well...this is so scary. I didn't know I would have to ride the bike right away."

"Of course you do," he encouraged, "what else did you want it for, a pretty decoration for our yard?"

She allowed herself a faint smile at his humor. "I'll help you," he promised, "then once you get the hang of it you'll be glad you don't have those training wheels."

Still skittish but willing to trust her pop she edged closer to the bike, laying a hand on the seat. Streamers dangled from the ends of the handlebars, fluttering merrily in the warm breeze and slightly uplifted by the sight she let pop hoist her on to the seat. He steadied the bike as it wobbled dangerously and her eyes widened. "I can't do this, pop." she decided.

"Now, Maggie, I know it's a little frightening at first but you'll be able to do it."

He positioned her feet on the pedals then began to roll the bike forward, Maggie clinging to the handlebars for dear life. "You're doing fine, sweetheart," he encouraged as he propelled her faster, "start pedaling."

As her feet were already forced to move with the motion of the pedals, it wasn't too difficult to do as he asked and she sped forward. she wasn't expecting him to let go, but as she gained momentum, he couldn't keep up with her. "Just keep pedaling!" he hollered, running alongside her.

Aware that she was now in full control of the bike, she panicked and took her feet from the pedals, then found herself tumbling in to a miserable heap on the ground. Her tears came quick, not only from her scraped hands and knees, but also because she knew she would never learn how to ride a bike. She felt herself being lifted in to pop's strong arms and cuddling against the warmth of his chest, her tears soaking in to his shirt. "There now, darling," he soothed, "let's go inside and we'll see what we can do about those scraped knees."

She glanced anxiously back at the bike lying in a sorry twisted shape,. "I'll come back for it in a minute," pop promised.

She nodded and let him take her in to the house, where he carefully washed the cuts, placing bandaids on the more deeper ones, then giving her a bowl of chocolate ice cream, which made her feel a bit better. Pop left the house, momentarily returning with the bike.

After finishing her ice cream she returned to the bike, which showed only minor damage from its encounter with the street. "Do you feel up to trying it again?" pop asked.

"I don't know," she admitted softly, "I don't want to fall again."

He thought about that for a moment. "I can't promise you won't fall, Maggie, but what I can promise is that you'll fall less and less as you practice riding your bike."

She still looked apprehensive. "And when you do fall, I'll be right here to help."

She offered him a half-hearted smile, then tentatively sat herself on the bike. "Now when I let go, Maggie, don't be afraid, just keep pedaling. That's how you keep your balance."

"Okay, pop, I'll try."

He rolled the bike forward, and without being prompted Maggie began pedaling on her own. "Very good, Maggie." he praised as she picked up speed.

He held on to the bike as long as possible then told her he was letting go, reminding her to pedal. He was running alongside her and she pedaled and pedaled, encouraged by pop's shouts of joy. "Pedal, Maggie, pedal!" he called as she wobbled precariously.

Then suddenly she found she was doing it! She wasn't falling! Pop was right. All she had to do was keep pedaling. She could see the triumphant grin on his face as he continued to trot beside her, and she felt a rush of confidence. She could do this, she was doing it! The wind whished through her ears, her hair blowing wildly. Pop had taught her to ride a bike! He had always told her she could do anything she set her mind to, and now she believed it.

Excited adolescents huddled in groups or milled about in the small high school gym that was temporarily serving as the meeting place for graduation. It was hard to believe so much time had passed, time in which Maggie had flourished, made friends and coped with the constant ache her mother's absence had left. Pop was always supportive of her, but some things he simply couldn't understand. While other girls were enjoying their freedom, and chafing against the restraints their parents placed upon them, Maggie longed for the mother she had never known. It wasn't that her life up to this point had been sad, but brief moments of melancholy would often catch her off guard, which she successfully shrugged aside by immersing herself in the social whirl that was youth. Her teenage years were almost behind her, and for that she was grateful. Maybe adulthood would give her a bit more sense. She scoffed inwardly at that ridiculous thought as she placed her cap firmly on her head, and with the encouragement of friends, they waited to be ushered in to their new lives.

It was over. Maggie was officially finished with high school. It had such a finality to it, but she couldn't feel depressed about it, not today. She floated on a rush of adrenaline as she moved to stand beside pop. Approaching, she thought she saw him surrepticiously wipe away a few tears. "You're beautiful, Maggie." he whispered, his voice betraying the emotion he was trying to mask.

She laughed, embracing him. "You start saying that more often, pop, and I'm liable to get a big head."

"I'm only being truthful, darling." he reasoned.

After changing in to more casual clothes and promising her friends she would attend that evening's graduation party, pop took her to dinner in Boston. The restaurant wasn't fancy, but it was cozy and gave them an opportunity to talk and for pop to come to the realization that his little girl was growing in to a woman. "I can't believe how fast these years have gone by." he observed wistfully, "one instant I was dangling you on my knee, and now just look at you, all grown up and ready to leave your old man for the big world."

"I'm not going anywhere, pop, " she assured, "I don't want to leave Collinsport, not just yet anyway. Maybe I can get a job."

His face brightened at this revelation. "Well, maybe you could. All I want is for you to be happy. And if that means leaving Colinsport, or staying and finding work, I'll support you in whatever you decide."

She beamed. "You're so sweet, pop. I love you, you know?"

His voice was gruff when he replied. "Yeah, Maggie, I know, and the same goes for you too."

Joe's voice drew her from her reverie as she fought back the tears that burned her eyes. "He was a good man, Joe." she whispered brokenly. "He always wanted what was best for me. I know there were times I took him for granted. I never thought he would leave me."

she gave a watery smile. "I think fathers are supposed to be immortal."

Joe pulled her against him and together they looked down at the headstone. "If he was here, Maggie, I think he would approve of our plans."

Her expression lightened at the mention of their newly reinstated engagement. This time they wouldn't wait so long to be married. If pop's death had brought about one good thing, it was that time was precious and not to be squandered, especially on the important things in life that mattered. "So do I, Joe."

She reached down and ran a finger across the velvet of the tulips, and when she at last turned to Joe she was smiling. "Are you ready to go?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," she said, "even though he's gone that doesn't mean I can't continue to make him proud of me."

""It certainly doesn't," he agreed, "Now we'd better get to Collinwood. Doesn't Mrs. Stoddard want to help you choose a wedding dress?"

"Yes," Maggie enthused, "she's determined to see that I get married in a respectable fashion, which of course means she wants to supervise everything."

"Just as long as you're happy with the arrangements, Maggie," Joe said, "it's nice of her to help, but remember, it will be your wedding day."

Maggie let the words sink in to her. She was going to be married to the man she loved, a man she could start her own family with. While one great man had left her life, another was entering. She felt content as they left the cemetery. "I love you, Joe." she said, taking his hand.

"And I love you, soon-to-be Mrs. Haskell."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Willie's footsteps rustled through last autumn's withered leaves, the only sound on the dark deserted road. The lonely path accommodated his mood perfectly, a combination of gloom and frustration. He'd seen Maggie tonight, sitting with Joe at a corner table at the Blue Whale, laughing and talking animatedly, her eyes showing none of the bleakness of past events. It seemed she could forgive and forget much easier and was now taking advantage of that ability by renewing her relationship with Joe. Willie wondered if they were together as a couple, or if she was playing it safe, taking the friendship route for now. Did that mean he still might have a chance where she was concerned? Hope flickered momentarily inside him, fanned by the thought of the optimistic dream, then just as suddenly, spluttered in to nothingness, looking on with resigned unhappiness as Maggie took Joe's hand. He had his answer then, she was going to jump right back in to a relationship that had caused her such misery in the end. It was stupid to worry about her. She was an adult, capable of making her own decisions, she didn't need any of the warnings he wanted to fling at her. If she hadn't learned from her mistakes, he supposed there was nothing he could do for it. Still he wondered how long their relationship would last. He would always be there to pick up the pieces, if or when the time came for that, and in some small way the thought pleased him.

His bleakness was justified, seeing Maggie and Joe so happy together, the happiness she unknowingly denied him twisting painfully inside him, and so he'd left his untouched drink and the Blue Whale, only to find the depression had followed him in to the silence of a vacant night. Why was the town so deserted? Small though it was, Collinsport was always bustling with activity, people out for a stroll or browsing through the limited offerings of the shops, or having a last-minute nightcap at the diner, but even it was closed. He glanced at his watch then frowned. It was too early for the diner to be shut up. Something wasn't right. A bit nervous now, he quickened his steps through the oncoming darkness, wishing he hadn't spent so much time brooding at the Blue Whale.

He stopped at the post office to read the sign that had been hastily taped there, "Closed for Memorial Day" it read. He might have known! He had completely forgotten about the holiday, never having observed it before and having no need of it now. There was no one he wanted to remember, thinking of the past was mostly a painful chore he avoided, even the time he hung around Jason wasn't something he recalled with fondness. He didn't think he'd ever really been happy. His life had seen one trial after another, a father who'd left his mother before he was born, a mother who cared no more for him than what money he brought in from the state simply by existing, and a lonely childhood that had been cluttered with fist fights and bullying. He'd learned the hard way how to push people around, being bullied had given him plenty of experience when it was his turn to take that role. It had proved a means of survival for him, and when he'd left home at fourteen, he wasn't even sure his mother had even realized he was gone. She hadn't cared enough to file a missing child report, and it was easy for him to blend in with the crowd of cardboard faces of homeless urchins, all down on their luck, lost and hopeless, angry and bitter.

Three years of temporary jobs, scavenged food and loneliness had caught up with him by the time he'd met Jason, a smooth-talking, rebellious man who was fearless in his pursuit of wealth. He'd saved Willie from being arrested outside of a convenient store, the kid was obviously poor, couldn't the police release him in to jason's custody? He was sure the lad meant no harm and would be perfectly content to stay with him. willie had been so completely caught off guard by this unexpected act of kindness, he'd silently agreed, anything would be better than sitting in a jail cell for a stupid cup of pilfered coffee.

He owed Jason more than he wanted to admit. It was Jason who had taught him the proper way to steal without getting caught, how to say the right words to charm an unsuspecting old woman out of her money, or how to get what he wanted by sheer brute strength. their prospects had been excellent upon their arrival in Collinsport, there was no way Willie could have realized the strange terrifying events that would completely reshape his world.

In some ways the change hadn't been bad. He never had to worry about where he would sleep or where his next meal would come from, and while not respected by most folks of the town, he was barnabas's servant, a title that had kept people marginally civil towards him. That title had also brought about his stay at Windcliff, taking the blame for a crime he hadn't committed, only to return to Collinwood where he was further involved in the lives of those he now considered friends.

He leaned against the weathered gate leading in to Eaglehill cemetery and watched the sun on its downward slope in to night. He enjoyed watching sunsets, something about the vividness of the colors, the way they mingled to form a fiery globe of light, made him feel that at least one thing in his world was constant, sort of like a dependable friend. It was stupid to think that way, and if pressed he would never admit such depths of emotion, but alone here with only long-gone people of the past, he could feel without fear of scorn. "Hello."

Willie whirled around, startled by the sudden break in the silence. "Who's there?" he called.

"It's me, Sarah." the voice said, and sure enough, a young girl was materializing from the gloom, dressed in those strange clothes of the past.

Willie cautiously moved away from the gate, his body tensed for flight. "What do you want?" he asked, trying to sound firm, and hearing his voice come out shaky and unsure.

She moved towards him, but he completely ignored the smile on her face. "Stay back," he warned, "I dunno whatcha want, but I ain't got nothin' worth stealin'."

She held out her hands, her eyes begging him to trust her. Willie didn't come by trust easily, and although he'd seen her before and she'd seemed innocent enough, there was no telling why she'd appeared to him. "Don't be afraid of me," she pleaded, "I won't hurt you. I only came because you needed me."

Confusion clouded his face. He didn't like riddles, trying to figure them out only made him nervous, and with nervousness came panic. "I don't need you," he scoffed, "I ain't Barnabas. I don't have an obsession with the past. If anyone's needin' you, it'll be him."

She shook her head mournfully. "He doesn't need me right now, but you do. I don't know why, but I just thought I should come here to see if I could help."

"Well, you can't help 'cause I don't need anything."

There was a few moments of silence in which Willie was planning his escape, but her next words drove all such thoughts from his mind. "You're lonely. I know what it's like to be lonely. It makes you sad and scared. Why are you lonely, Willie? Don't you have a mother or father?"

"Stop talkin' like that," he ordered, feeling her words strike painfully somewhere near his heart, "you don't know nothin' 'bout me. Go back where you came from."

"I can't," she said, "not until I'm finished here. Did your mother and father leave you by yourself? Is that why you're sad?"

"I ain't sad!" he shouted, "so jus' leave me alone!"

"You scare people away when you get so angry." she pointed out calmly. "Perhaps if you were nicer and didn't shout so much people would want to be your friend."

"I don't want no friends," he said, his voice now sullen, "and you ain't got no right pokin' in to my business."

An expression of bewilderment crossed her face. "Pokin'?" she asked, "what does that mean?"

Exasperated, willie turned and threw up his hands. She wouldn't leave, at least not until she got what she came for, and since he didn't know what that might be, he had no choice but to stick around. Walking away would be useless, she would only follow him, it was best to get it over with as quickly as possible. "It means you're bein' nosey."

unperturbed by his attitude she continued to smile. "Oh, yes, mother said there were times I had occasion to be pesky, although she never really minded all that much. Why do you mind?"

"You ask far too many questions, kid." he muttered.

She ducked her head, whether from embarrassment or sadness he couldn't tell. Finally she said, "I just want someone to talk to. I thought since you were lonely too, you wouldn't mind some company."

His grumbling collapsed beneath the weight of her tearful admission. "All right, kid, I'll talk to you, although I ain't got much to say."

Instantly she brightened. "I have lots of things to talk about. My mother bought me this doll a long time ago."

She extended the doll for his examination. "Yeah, it's nice." he commented, uncomfortable at being placed in the awkward position of boosting a child's morale.

She didn't seem to notice his discomfort. "her name is Samantha. Do you like that name?"

"Sure." he lied.

She clutched the doll to her chest, her eyes filling with a desperate longing. "Sometimes she's the only one who cares about me. She's my best friend."

Willie felt a stab of pity for this child who seemed to be trapped between two plains of existence, caught in limbo between life and the afterlife. What would it be like to never be able to complete that journey, to be eternally alone, adrift in a world that provided only minimal contact with people? Even his existence, miserable though it sometimes was, allowed him contact with others, even if they didn't particularly like him. For almost two hundred years she hadn't felt the warmth of a human hand or the embrace of a mother. At least he had his limited friendship with Maggie to soothe the loneliness, and Barnabas had become a friend in his own right, and even the folks up at Collinwood were civil towards him. Still, there were times when he wished he had a true family, some sort of connection to others who shared his last name, who wouldn't mind spending time with him, people he could call his own.

He felt a sudden kinship with this child, a child who had weathered a stormy family life but who had still loved her family. She had payed dearly for that love, her devotion to be with her brother was directly responsible for her untimely death. Maybe it was better not to love if all it brought was pain. Sarah had loved, and in the end it had gotten her nowhere. Willie had tried to save Maggie out of something close to love, at least friendship, and that had earned him a stay at the Collinsport hospital, then an even longer stint at Windcliff. He had tried to find friendship with Jason, but that too had ended with each of them going their separate ways. Love was a useless waste of energy, but was that the emotion keeping Barnabas's ghost sister here? Suddenly curious he asked, "Why do you stick around here, kid?"

She thought about it for a moment. "I have to watch over everyone. They need me."

That clinched it then. She was definitely staying out of devotion, which was rather pointless since most times she kept herself invisible. "Can't you go on to somewhere better?"

he was surprised by his continuing curiosity, that had been an emotion Barnabas had effectively beaten out of him years ago, but the sadness in the kid's eyes really got to him. "I will only leave here when my work is finished." she replied, sounding very much the adult.

It was sad really, that she had to stay around simply to fulfill an obligation to watch over a family so far in the future, never knowing peace for herself. "Well, when you do go back to wherever you came from, you come tell me you're leavin', okay?"

This time the surprise he felt didn't catch him off guard. he allowed the warmth of her smile to seep in to him, and when she moved to hug him he didn't flinch from her. "All right, Willie," she promised solemnly, "I won't forget. But I'll always be close by, even when I do go away. I don't ever leave my friends."

It was strange that a child's embrace could so easily rob him of words, but before he could find his voice, she was gone, a warm breeze against his cheek the only sign of her departure. Turning, he made his way from eaglehill. There was something he needed to do.


End file.
